


Nous Sommes

by keeponshouting



Series: Baby, This is Love [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Pining Grantaire, more tags later maybe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-01 13:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeponshouting/pseuds/keeponshouting
Summary: Grantaire wasn't intending to stay for the meeting. He definitely wasn't intending to keep attending meetings. Or to get Feuilly interested in the meetings. Or Bahorel, for that matter. The little renegade club's president is remarkably compelling for a freshman, however, and it's actually kind of nice to have people around who are so determined to call him a friend. He wasn't intending to stay but staying might be just what he needs to get himself through his senior year.A prequel/companion to The Simplest Things.





	1. The Early Bird Club

**Author's Note:**

> Upon returning to the universe of TST, I realized that I had a lot of bits and pieces and plot points regarding the high school years of Les Amis and decided to do a little something with it. This is just going to be Grantaire's senior year, primarily from his point of view.

The furthest corner of the school parking lot is where the Bad Kids hang out and every student and member of staff is well aware of that fact. Of course, in reality, they aren't really so much bad, per say, as they are rather rough around the edges. Sure a few of them enjoy some slightly questionable pastimes and most of them have had a few run-ins with local law enforcement but mostly their reputations are the result of troubled home lives, ignorant administrators, and forced bravado. Still, that corner belongs to the "miscreants" and, for the most part, those who haven't been slapped with that label tend to avoid those spaces at all costs. That includes school security.

Grantaire is usually just as happy for their misplaced fears and general disgust. It makes it a lot easier to keep to himself when he's feeling asocial and lets him watch people without being bothered. Even better, it makes it a lot easier to park there overnight and sleep in his car without being asked any questions. He doesn't do it often, of course. His back seat, while not the most uncomfortable back seat he's ever been on (and he's been on a fair few), isn't really built to provide for a particularly restful night's sleep. Having the option available is nice, though, and most mornings the noise of other students arriving does a pretty good job of waking him up in time for classes and his rather unflattering reputation means that people rarely bring up the fact that he's wearing the same clothes two or very occasionally three days in a row. The fact that the school counselors are among the majority who have never questioned such a habit has done nothing to temper his cynical nature and general bitterness toward, well, everything.

There are places that he could probably go where he would be able to borrow a bed or at least a sofa but he's a bit self-conscious of asking and what few friends he has have never really known that there might be any reason to make the offer. If Joly were to be made aware, he would make a fuss and insist that Grantaire stay with him, might even insist that Grantaire take his bed. Joly's parents had already let Bossuet move into their spare bedroom for the year, though, and they had never actually said it to his face but Grantaire knew that Joly's parents didn't particularly like him. Then again, they didn't particularly like a lot of things and they rarely actually voiced their displeasure or disgust, opting instead for dirty looks and poorly hidden suspicions. Bahorel's parents were much friendlier and more accommodating and likely would have figured out a way to stuff another bed into Bahorel and Feuilly's room if asked. Grantaire always felt like he was a burden when he visited them, however, because Bahorel's mother always felt compelled to feed him despite already having half a dozen mouths to feed between the core family and their foster children. A burden which they gladly, perhaps, but a burden nonetheless. And that is honestly the extent of his list of actual friends.

At least, that was the extent of his list until one fateful morning when a stranger comes knocking on his car window before pretty much anyone besides the cross-country team ever showed up to school. It takes a solid five minutes before Grantaire actually realizes what's happening and groggily moves his arm from where it rests over his eyes to block out the sun. Once his brain catches up with his senses and he manages to blink the bleariness out of his eyes, he is, he would like to think, understandably startled to find a slightly cherubesque face peering in through the foggy window at his feet. Seemingly unbothered by the way that Grantaire nearly jumps right out of his skin and barely keeps from falling to the floorboard, the stranger simply smiles the widest, brightest smile that Grantaire can ever remember having seen and tucks a lock of pale pink hair behind one ear before offering a rather too enthusiastic wave.

"Good morning!" Even muffled by the door, the voice is far too loud and cheerful.

Grantaire isn't entirely sure that "good" is how he would describe it.

With a groan, he forces himself to sit up. The person outside appears to be bouncing, a series of tote bags jostling about on his arms, but doesn't seem to actually be in any sort of hurry to receive a proper response. Mostly they just look to be an extremely energetic person and Grantaire isn't entirely certain whether or not he has enough energy himself to handle that this early in the morning. Not that it really makes any difference. Setting aside the jacket he'd used as a blanket for the night, he finally gets himself upright and moves to crack the door open. He'd just roll down the window but the mechanism in that particular door has been busted for the past year and it doesn't like to roll back up without a fight.

"Can I help you?" His voice is low and hoarse and maybe a little bit grumpier than he actually intended it to be.

The stranger's smile doesn't waver in the slightest. "Oh! No. Well, maybe yes? I don't know if it's really a thing that requires help or if it's just a, well, thing but I thought this care was empty and had just broken down or something but then I noticed that you were inside and I was just surprised to see you and then I thought that, if you're sleeping in a car in the school parking lot, you probably weren't going to have any opportunity to actually eat anything before school starts and, well..."

Grantaire hasn't even entirely caught up with the rambling by the time there's a cup of coffee being shoved through the narrow space he's left open for their conversation.

"Do you like coffee? I'm not supposed to drink it myself but it was my turn to pick up breakfast for the meeting and some of the others drink it so I bought a java box from the shop on the corner. I've got cream and sugar, if you need it. I'll just need a minute to find it."

There's a fairly long pause, which doesn't seem to bother this kid at all, but finally Grantaire processes everything that's been said enough to hesitantly accept the coffee with what he hopes comes across as a grunt of gratitude. "Black is fine. What meeting?" He doesn't really care, of course, but it's only polite to sound at least a little bit curious.

"Debate Club! Well, okay, not exactly. There's already a Debate Club, I guess. Some of us are in that, too. Politics Club, maybe? Um, Recent Events Club?" The kid laughs. "We meet up and talk about what's going on in the world and we're hopefully going to organize some trips out to protests and marches and stuff eventually but right now we're still waiting to see if our club is even officially approved by the school board. Mabeuf is letting us meet in his room two mornings a week until we hear back. Maybe you could come to a meeting some time! If you're interested in that sort of thing, I mean."

Again, it takes a minute to process everything that's been said. He was right, though; he doesn't really care. Still, in a continued effort toward politeness, he does at least shrug and say, "Maybe."

Apparently, that's all his new acquaintance needs. Bags are set down on the ground for a moment as the kid crouches down and digs out a bagel and "I'm Jehan, by the way! Do you like cream cheese? Enjolras and Bossuet both hate cream cheese so I've learned to ask people."

"Wait, Bossuet?" Grantaire's thoughts grind to a halt. "How do you know Bossuet?"

Jehan pauses to look up at him, smile patient. "Well, he's in the club, of course! Why else would I know how he likes his bagels?" One of said bagels appears through the space in the door, held on top of a napkin with a plastic knife underneath and a little, single-serve pot of cream cheese on top. "He and Joly are always a little bit late so I usually get their breakfast put together for them so they can just join right in with the discussion."

Grantaire blinks and slowly accepts the food as his sleepy brain does its best to wrap itself around this new information. Bossuet and Joly had joined a new club and not mentioned it? Then again, they were only about a month into the school year and it wasn't like any of them usually talked much about their extracurricular activities anyway and it sort of made sense for Bossuet to be interested in political discussions. He was hoping to go to law school after all.

"Well, I should get going!" Jehan is standing again, bags once more overloading two rather skinny arms and a rather cumbersome box of coffee awkwardly held in one hand, and Grantaire feels a pang of guilt stab him in the gut at the sight of it. The kid is tiny and skinny and stupidly cheerful and totally willing to juggle everything on his own and looks rather surprised but definitely grateful when Grantaire actually gets out of his car and takes the coffee box and a couple of the bags away from him.

"Gimme a minute to get my shit together." He's not planning on staying at the meeting or anything. It's just that he feels bad watching this scrawny, little good samaritan struggling. Maybe he'll hang out long enough to actually drink his coffee and eat his bagel and say hi to Bossuet and Joly. The art room might be open by then and he could get some work done on that still-life project they'd started in class. If not, the weight room would definitely be open. Bahorel swore that a good work-out was a great way to start the day and it would give him an excuse to take a shower.

A few moments later, his bagel wrapped up in its napkin and stuffed into his hoodie pocket, Grantaire throws his backpack over one shoulder, takes up the bags and coffee box and gestures toward the school with his own sloshing cup. Jehan's smile is blinding. If that's any indication of what he'd have to deal with at this club meeting, yeah, he's definitely not going to be hanging around.

Despite the fact that the meeting is taking place in Mabeuf's classroom and, technically, all school clubs require there to be a member of staff present at all gatherings on campus, Mabeuf himself is nowhere to be seen when Jehan finally leads the way inside. In fact, there are only three people waiting for them and only one of those is even paying attention to the door. The other two appear to be deep in conversation, presumably before the meeting has even begun. Unless this plus Bossuet and Joly is the extent of the club, that is.

"Jehan! Good morning!" The greeting draws everyone's attention toward them, though the greeter is the only one close enough to lighten their load very quickly. Well, he lightens Jehan's load, at least. Being considerably bigger than everyone else in the room, Grantaire doesn't particularly begrudge him that.

It's one of the other two who takes the coffee box, even as he pushes a pair of glasses up his nose and offers a pleasant smile. "I see you've brought your staple breakfast. Also, perhaps, a new friend?" This guy is way more proper than any kid his age has any right to be.

Jehan sounds far too delighted to proclaim, "I found him sleeping in his car!"

The greeter and the kid with the glasses both look a bit shocked. Further away, previously sorting through some newspapers and print-outs, the third looks up at that, brow furrowed and corners of his mouth curving downward. All of the attention makes Grantaire twitchy and generally uncomfortable but he can at least pretend that it's no big deal when he's facing the first two. He has to keep that third one off in his periphery. There's something far too intense about him for such an early hour.

"He's friends with Bossuet," Jehan goes on. "Also Joly, obviously. You can't really be friends with one and not the other, after all."

"Do you usually sleep in your car?" Greeter asks.

Glasses jabs him with an elbow. "You're supposed to introduce yourself to someone before you start asking them personal questions." Then he looks toward Grantaire, clearing his throat as he adjusts his glasses again. "This is Courfeyrac, my name is Combeferre, and that over there is Enjolras. Do you usually sleep in your car?"

The delivery is so straight-faced that Grantaire can't help a snort of laughter. "Name's Grantaire. Capital R, if you ask Joly, or just R." He doesn't make any attempt to hide the fact that he's avoiding their question when he adds, "I'm just here to say hi to the latecomers and then I'll be out of your hair. I've got a date with cracked vase and a dusty bouquet."

Jehan is the only one who doesn't look confused (or irritable, in the case of the one apparently known as Enjolras) and actually gasps, big eyes going even bigger and once more overflowing with excitement. "You're in the Portfolio class?"

It's a good enough distraction as any and Grantaire shrugs. "Yeah. It was the last art class left for me to take. I think Gros is determined to get me into art school by sheer force of will but I'm not really that into it. Just another easy A."

"Portfolio is an easy A?" It's Courfeyrac who asks the question, his tone and expression both disbelieving behind Jehan's look of absolute awe.

Grantaire shrugs again. If being badgered about his future by a group of underclassmen who don't even know him is how he avoids all of those questions that he so rarely hears and yet always hates, then so be it. He'll put up with it until Bossuet and Joly arrive and then he'll excuse himself and that will be the end of that. He just wishes that Enjolras kid would actually speak instead of just giving him that Look.


	2. Afternoon Distractions

He doesn't leave the meeting. Honestly, though, there really isn't much of a meeting to leave. His mere presence nearly single-handedly manages to almost completely derail the entire affair before it's even had a chance to begin. A few of them pull away to talk politics for about ten minutes out of their allotted hour before there are enough people in the halls to indicate that they had best be on their way to their various home room classes but most of them don't look too terribly upset about it. Grantaire doesn't really pay any attention to what's being said during that short-lived political portion of the morning. He's too busy arguing with Joly about whether or not he's going to be spending the night at the younger boy's house. Bossuet even offers to give R his bed, if necessary, and bunk with Joly. Not that it would really be much a hardship for the two of them, Grantaire thinks. Joly's parents are probably the only reason that they don't share a bed every night as it is. Being a good friend, however, he refrains from actually speaking his mind on that matter and instead simply assures them that sleeping in his car isn't a common occurrence. What he neglects to mention is that it seems to be growing progressively more common. No one needs to know that.

As they disperse, the only member of the little club who doesn't say goodbye or that it was nice to meet him is Enjolras. Joly makes one last little fuss. Bossuet says he'll see him at lunch. Jehan, bless his heart, actually gives him a hug and announces that they're going to be great friends. Courfeyrac waves with a quick "seeya 'round" as they go their separate ways. Combeferre, for whatever reason, actually stops him to say that he should come back for a normal meeting, the next one being in two days time. Enjolras, meanwhile, doesn't even look in Grantaire's direction but collects his things, tucks his papers under his arm, and purposefully marches off and away without so much as a huff of acknowledgement.

Combeferre apologizes for his friend's behavior and then slips off in the same direction.

There's something about the whole thing that makes Grantaire squirm while simultaneously inducing a pleasant sense of accomplishment. A rather large portion of his reputation hinges on his ability to irritate the everloving shit out of certain types of people without even trying. In a way, it's kind of nice to know that he's still got a knack for it. On the other hand, however, he actually feels kind of bad. Here's this kid, obviously way too serious for his own good, trying to get this little club of his off the ground, and R had just unintentionally wasted an entire morning of his time. The guy obviously needs to lighten up a little bit but he can sort of understand the source of the frustration. Mabeuf was risking a reprimand by letting them meet unsupervised in his classroom without being officially chartered. Least they could do was actually make each meeting as productive as possible.

When he tells Feuilly about the whole thing later, talking over top of their designs for the scale models they're apparently going to be building this first quarter, he only gets a sidelong look when he mentions his sleeping arrangements. Some people simply know better than others precisely when and when not to delve any deeper into a topic. Feuilly does say that he should take Combeferre up on his invitation, though, and see what their club is really like.

"Maybe I'll stop in, too." Scribbling down some notes to himself regarding materials and other things Grantaire can't actually read upside down, Feuilly shrugs. "Politics are interesting and morning meetings would be a lot easier than trying to fit something in between school and work."

Grantaire huffs a laugh. "I don't actually know what their politics are."

"No but you know that Bossuet and Joly are involved. That should tell you plenty right there."

Well, he supposes that's true.

He's still thinking about that when he steps out under a cloudy sky and makes his way across the parking lot after school only to find a little bit of a commotion going on in that far corner. When people shift just right, he catches a quick glimpse of the problem, namely Jehan perched on the front of his car, a bright splotch of cheerful colors among the much harsher and generally more subdued palette around him. A couple of the tough kids seem to be trying to give the bubbly, little freshman a hard time but to no avail. Grantaire can see even from a distance that the lack of fear is leading to a whole lot of frustration and he vaguely wonders if he would be trying so hard to hurry without looking worried if Jehan were just some unknown kid who'd overstepped their bounds. If someone else were to ask him that very question, he'd probably scoff at the idea of it. He doesn't go out of his way to protect just anyone.

He lengthens his strides when one of the bigger punks takes one step too many toward his car and clears his throat a bit more loudly than necessary to part the little wall of onlookers that stands in his way. For the moment, he keeps his hands in his pockets, still trying to appear unbothered by the scene currently taking place even as he finally steps close enough to actually hear the subtle threats that grow remarkably less subtle remarkably quickly. This tiny, flowery frosh is in over his head, surrounded by a bunch of disenchanted youths who are itching for a fight, half a dozen bad days ready to manifest right in his face.

"Jehan!" The benefit to having a rough reputation is that most of the students who are familiar with that reputation tend to hesitate in his presence. Is it worth trying your luck against the guy everyone says broke a quarterback's teeth his sophomore year? It was actually a linebacker, of course, and he didn't break any of them, just knocked a couple out, but no need to argue the semantics. "The hell are you doing here?"

If his voice sounds irritable or anything short of pleasantly surprised, really, Jehan doesn't show any signs of having noticed. The kid's pulled his pink hair back into a short ponytail with entire chunks already falling out of the rubber band and his face is split with the exact same sort of too-bright smile as it had been first thing in the morning. Nice to know that some people can make it through a full day of school without their spirits breaking in the slightest. It just seems to aggravate the already wary air around them.

"Since I'd be passing your car on my way home anyway, Ferre and Courf asked me to make sure you were actually leaving campus after classes like you told Bossuet and Joly you were."

R has mixed feelings about that but decides to focus on seeming annoyed as he rolls his eyes. "Seriously? Next time, just tell them it's nobody's goddamn business what I do after school."

Jehan scrunches up his face in apparently frustration for just a moment before he's right back to smiling. "Sure. Whatever." He hops to his feet, completely ignoring the fact that the motion nearly knocks him right into one of his former antagonizers, a boy who still stands far too close and shows no signs of having any intention of moving. "You think you could drive me home on your way to wherever you're going? I think I felt some rain a minute ago and I'd rather not get a lecture about tracking mud into the house twice in two days. Maybe if Mom sees me in a car with you, she'll pick her battles a bit better."

Every last bit of that is said with a straight face, accompanied by nothing but that usual smile, and Grantaire has absolutely no idea how to take any of it. Instead of dwelling, however, he just unlocks his doors, tosses his bag into the back seat, and waves Jehan toward the passenger side with a laugh. "Climb in."

The drive takes about ten minutes solely due to school zone traffic, which means that it probably takes between ten and fifteen minutes for someone to make the walk through the park between the school and Jehan's house. Assuming that they don't get distracted by anything, that is, and Jehan, Grantaire is beginning to learn, is a rather easily distracted human being. In fact, his lack of an attention span probably could have added another five minutes to the trip if there had been so much as one more turn to take. As it is, by the time they've pulled up to the curb in front of his house, Jehan has alphabetized the small CD folder Grantaire keeps in his car, recited a decent portion of T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," and somehow befriended a bee that had evidently found itself closed in with them. His company is so far somewhat exhausting to keep but, honestly, Grantaire thinks that it's the sort of company that he could probably get used to.

"So, are you going to come to the next meeting?" Jehan's expression makes it obvious that he's hoping for an affirmative answer. "It'll be a real one. One with actual discussion, I mean."

R offers a non-committal grunt and a lopsided shrug in response, though he does find himself thinking back to conversations from earlier in the day. Bossuet and Joly are a part of this club already, aren't they? If Feuilly can find the energy to get out of the house a bit earlier than usual, he was interested in the meetings, too. That would mean that his only friend not attending would be the only one not currently in high school. What would it really hurt to give it a try?

"Well, thanks for the ride!" Once Jehan pops the door open and hops out, he pauses for a moment, then he hesitantly leans back in, his smile slipping perhaps a fraction of an inch as he grips the door and its frame just a little bit more tightly than necessary. "Also, um, just so you know... If you ever need somewhere to stay, seeing as I'm so close to the school and all, I mean it's a straight line through the park, and my parents both work a lot of night shifts right now and my bedroom's on the first floor, around the left side, the window with blue curtains..."

Grantaire stares at him for a solid minute, slowly processing the babble into something that actually makes sense in his own mind, then carefully schools his expression into one that he hopes comes across as gratitude even as he shakes his head. "Yeah, sure, thanks. Seeya 'round, kid."

He makes it about halfway across town before it finally really does start raining. By the time he's parked outside of his own house, it's downright pouring. It's as good of an excuse as any to wait a little while longer before going in to find out why his dad is apparently already home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel compelled to write notes on everything that I post but I don't really have anything important to say so I figured I'd put it here at the end and just say hi and thanks for reading.


	3. Angry Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, arguing with rich boys who aren't used to legitimate opposition is a good way to get yourself punched in the face. Who knew? Certainly not Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a reference to this scene back in the beginning of The Simplest Things so here we go.

A normal meeting, Grantaire learns two days later, is approximately 90% listening to Enjolras give impassioned speeches about current events and related systemic injustices, 8% people vocalizing their general agreement, and maybe 2% actual discussion. Not that he minds listening to Enjolras, really - the kid's got a truly inspired way with words, an surprisingly hypnotic voice, and the sort of presence about him that Grantaire is fairly certain that no one his age really deserves - but something about the way that everyone seems to be perfectly willing to let the whole thing be an almost entirely one-sided argument is infuriating. Hell, even Feuilly stays relatively quiet while Enjolras speaks, which is kind of astonishing, though it might just be because this is his first meeting and Feuilly often tends to observe more than interact during his first experience with most things but it's Grantaire's first proper meeting, too, and it takes every last bit of willpower he has to keep his mouth shut for as long as he does. Unfortunately, he doesn't have quite enough to make it all the way to the very end of the hour.

"You do realize that the ability to drop everything and protest whatever you like at the drop of a hat is, in and of itself, a privilege, right?"

The whole room goes silent before R even really fully realizes that he's let the thought escape in the form of actual speech. For the last ten minutes of their hour, they've been listening to Enjolras detail his plans (and desire for all of them) to attend a march that's supposed to be taking place in DC that very Saturday. Up to this point, Grantaire had been half zoned out, sitting near the door, doodling on some administrative hand-out that he'd found crumpled up at the bottom of his backpack. He's fairly certain that most of them had almost entirely forgot that he was even there, being the only one who hadn't been regularly murmuring his agreement with every point that Enjolras made. Accidentally placing himself at the center of everyone's attention right now wasn't necessarily the most comfortable feeling but, when no one else spoke up, he just couldn't let it go.

"You've made all of these plans before you've even spoken to anyone you're expecting to take part and - yes-" He speaks right over Enjolras's quickly aborted attempt to respond and pretends not to notice the entirely too shocked expressions on everyone else's faces. "-I know that you're pretending to ask politely for people to join you but it's pretty obvious just from the way you've phrased most of this frankly ridiculous farce of a conversation that you're not really asking but expecting people to go. Never mind that this thing is only two days away, taking place in the city, not likely to have been planned with the participation of a bunch of teenagers without parental supervision in mind, and was organized by a primarily white team of people in order to protest the progression of gentrification in areas where it only actually affects them if they are, themselves, a part of the problem. The odds of someone inciting violence in this situation are astronomical, the odds of those inciting it being white, yuppy do-gooders are only a fraction of a hundredth of a percent lower, and the odds that the people who actually end up suffering for it are the same impoverished people of color that this is supposedly meant to help are a solid 100%."

Everyone just goes on staring at him and he's not really sure where in all of that he stood up but there he is, standing in front of everyone, going head-to-head with an unexpectedly speechless Enjolras. The look on the freshman's face is some odd combination of shocked, intrigued, and absolutely furious. Mostly furious. It's not a bad look on him, honestly. A different one, sure, at least directed toward a human being who is actually present, but not bad.

"You know, most people who protest gentrification aren't actually protesting gentrification, right? The areas they're focusing on are mostly already pretty well gentrified. All they're looking for is maybe, at best, lower-middle-income rent control that still lets them afford to live there and shop there and whatever but also still pushes out all of the poor people and corner groceries and mom-and-pop shops that don't cater to their petty, hipster sensibilities." How is he so close to Enjolras now? Did he make the approach? Did Enjolras? "These are people who probably couldn't even tell you the proper definition of gentrification because their idea of what's low-income is still above the poverty line and they think that the sign of a neighborhood getting too expensive is that someone's building a second Starbucks! They're just going to go out there, march around, give some of those pretty yet entirely pointless speeches you seem to like so much and-"

Grantaire is more than just a little bit familiar with the feeling of the cartilage in his nose cracking. What he isn't used to is the chorus of shouts and gasps that comes along with it this time. Usually, if there's anyone to actually witness him taking a shot to the face, the response is more of an excited cheer or a sympathetic hiss. Then again, he can't remember the last time he took a completely unexpected blow at school. It's been a pretty long time, long enough that he completely forgets that they're in school at all, and he instinctively kicks a leg forward to take out his opponent's ankles.

The sound that Enjolras makes upon hitting the floor is entirely undignified but not nearly as much so as the squawk of horror that he lets out upon hearing the sound of Mabeuf clearing his throat in the doorway.

It's a flurry of activity after that. Combeferre is doing his best to explain everything to Mabeuf, Bossuet and Feuilly are helping Enjolras up from the floor, Courfeyrac is thrusting a wad of tissues up under Grantaire's bleeding nose, Joly is asking him stupid questions about how many fingers he's holding up, and Jehan is hovering around s if he's worried that Enjolras or Grantaire might lunge for the other and somehow his tiny self will be able to stop them. In the end, Enjolras is sent to the office and Courfeyrac and Joly are asked to escort R to the nurse, after which he is also expected to report to the office.

As he watches Enjolras walk off in one direction before being led in the other, Grantaire vaguely wonders if Enjolras has ever had detention before.

"Holy shit," Courfeyrac mutters under his breath. "Ho-o-oly shit."

"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" Joly is frowning, brow furrowed with worry, watching R more than he's watching his own path. "You look like you might be a bit wobbly. Courfeyrac, is he wobbling? Does he look like he's weaving a bit to you?"

Grantaire lightly elbows Joly in the ribs. "I'm fine. I think he just re-deviated my septum right back into place."

Joly doesn't appreciate the joke but Courfeyrac does and his laugh is matched by an only slightly hysterical grin. "That was amazing! Ferre would kill me if he heard me say that because he'd say I was encouraging violence or something but holy shit."

R snorts, an action which he immediately regrets because it dislodges a clot and his nose starts bleeding all over again. It doesn't stop him from properly looking at Courfeyrac, though, even as Joly scrambles to pull a fresh wad of tissues out of his pocket. At least the nurse is far enough away from most of the classrooms that they don't have to worry about anybody rushing past and slipping on the short trail of little, red splatters they've left behind.

"You've known each other for a while before this, haven't you?" he asks and Courfeyrac nods.

"Enjolras, Combeferre, and I have been in school together since kindergarten."

Grantaire hums. "Private school?"

It's not really a question. He frames it as one just to be polite but the look he gets at that says that his tone isn't fooling anyone. The way that Courfeyrac tilts his head is curious, maybe a little bit surprised, a bit like a puppy who's just seen a playmate do something new and unexpected.

"You look too much like rich kids," he explains. "Jehan dresses like he's been to public school, like he's a normal- Well, okay, I'm not even going to try to say he looks like a normal kid but at least he doesn't look like he's worn a uniform for his entire school career and now his entire wardrobe is organized into very specific outfits."

Courfeyrac blinks.

R grins. "I bet somebody had to talk Combeferre out of wearing a tie with his sweater vest, right?"

There's a hint of pink tinging Courfeyrac's cheeks as he slowly gives the smallest possible nod. "Yeah, I did." Then he pauses, his eyes going a little bit wide when he asks, "Wait, do I really look like a rich kid? Is it really that obvious?"

As they arrive at the nurses office to the sound of the school bell ringing, Grantaire just pats him on the back by way of answer. "Come on," he says over the beginning of the morning announcements. "You'll need a note so you don't get in trouble for being late."

 

R doesn't get to see Enjolras again that day. His nose takes over an hour to entirely stop bleeding, which leaves him feeling a bit light headed, which means that the nurse waits another twenty minutes before releasing him. By the time he gets to the office for disciplinary action, Enjolras has long since been sent back to class, no doubt with a note written and a phone call made to inform his parents that he'll be sitting in detention after school tomorrow. With any luck, Enjolras's parents aren't the type to be too bothered by such things. From what little experience Grantaire had with private school parents, they tended to either refuse to believe that their child would ever do such a thing or they left their child too terrified of their punishment to ever do such a thing again. Was Enjolras sitting through his classes all day, dreading what must await him at home? If so, that would make two of them.

At the end of the day, Grantaire sits in his car far longer than he usually would. That's not to say that he ever hurried home, when he actually headed home at all, but he's long since learned that it's better to walk into an occupied house when he's going to be in trouble than to be waiting in the house and let trouble come to him. Dad shouldn't be home until about 5 and wouldn't be settled in until at least 5:30 on a good day, never mind a day when he would be coming home from a long, exhausting day at a job he hated only to be informed by his wife that their son had been in a fight (not that you could really even call it that) and was going to spending Friday afternoon in detention. On average, that would add at least another half hour to the settling. If he waited until about 7 to actually go home...

The knock on his window doesn't startle him quite as much as it did the first time he found a bright face haloed in pink smiling in at him. This time, however, there's someone else behind him, someone with dark hair and clothes that are too clean and too boring to match the personality of someone who gleefully swears in empty school hallways over how amazing it is that an acquaintance riled his friend up enough to get punched in the face. So, eyebrows arching toward his hairline, Grantaire rolls down his window.

"Can I help you?"

Jehan laughs. "Still as welcoming as ever!" He leans in through the window and, much to R's surprise and confusion, presses a kiss to his cheek. "What are you doing this afternoon?"

Grantaire very seriously considers making up some excuse for why he doesn't have time to be entertaining the company that so clearly has some motive for being in his presence but ultimately just shrugs. What has he got to lose by being honest? After all, he's got a lot of time to kill. "Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. I take it you have a plans that potentially involve the a certain troublesome upperclassmen who just so happens to be the only one of those present to be in possession of a vehicle."

"Very astute, my good sir!" Courfeyrac leans around Jehan so that the two of them are both squeezed into the frame of the open window. "I was wondering if, perhaps, you might be so kind as to take us shopping."

Jehan's laugh is more of a giggle this time. "I'm only involved because I knew where to find you," he admits. "I'm told that my fashion sense is not particularly up to snuff."

To be fair, Jehan did seem to dress as if he'd simply fallen into the most colorful rack in a thrift store and went about his day in whatever came out.

Courfeyrac pats his friend on the head before turning a hopeful look toward Grantaire. "It's just that ever since you brought up the whole private school thing... I mean, I'm not sure that your style is quite my style but at least you could tell me if I looked too..."

"Prep school?" Jehan offers.

Courfeyrac winces but nods. "Basically."

Finding himself endlessly entertained by all of this, R grins before hitching a thumb toward his back seat. "The driver's side door doesn't work right."

With a squeal, Jehan shoves Courfeyrac out of the way to plant another kiss on R's cheek before sprinting around to the other side of the car with a shout of something that sounds an awful lot like "Shotgun!" while the other freshman scrambles after him with a spluttered "No fair!"

All Grantaire can do is shake his head and start the car.


End file.
